


"Reason on Compulsion"

by farad



Series: The Phoenix Series [3]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 3K Round-up Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 01:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7199396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Daybook Prompt, "Buck, any, he hated losing a woman." </p><p>Part three of the Phoenix Series; Ezra and Buck discussing why they've made some recent decisions - if, indeed, they were actually decisions and not compulsions.  Set after "Love and Honor".</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Reason on Compulsion"

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to the awesome Jojo for the beta - all mistakes my own.

“ _Give you a reason on_ _compulsion_ _! If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon_ _compulsion_ _, I.”       -_ Shakespeare, King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

 

“I'm surprised you're still awake,” Ezra said, stepping out of the saloon and on to the boardwalk. The night was clear and bright, and this late, there were few people out and about, just the stragglers, like himself, closing down the town's two saloons.

 

Buck looked up at him, blowing cigar smoke out into the night. There was just enough breeze to carry it away lazily, leaving the lush scent of it lingering in the air. One of Nathan's finer ones, Ezra thought, one of the ones he gave out on special occasions. Such as when one of them did not die, despite the odds.

 

And looking at Buck, it did look like a near thing. The bandages, which had been white earlier in the day, were now darkened with blood, the cuts from the rapier still bleeding despite God-knew how many stitches Nathan had put into them. Buck should have been in pain, but Ezra suspected that his friend had consumed quite a bit of alcohol this evening, enough to dull the edge – so to speak.

 

And he knew that Inez had given it to him freely – or, rather, paying for it herself. Despite her very vocal disdain for his affections, Ezra saw her appreciation for what Buck had done for her, what he had been willing to do: to die at the hands of that bastard Don Paulo.

 

In truth, it had been sheer luck that had saved Buck's life – luck, the watchful eyes of the other six, and the very quick hand of Don Paulo's man, Martinez. That had been a surprise to everyone.

 

“Pretty night like this?” Buck said, smiling up at Ezra. He sat on one of the wooden chairs scattered along the boardwalk, his injured leg propped up on the railing and his injured arm out of its sling and resting in his lap. “Seems a shame to waste it, seeing as I wasn't sure I was gonna live to see it.”

 

Ezra reached out to a nearby chair, drawing it closer and sitting down. It was, indeed, a lovely night, the stars bright in the sky, the moon close and luminous. “You did well today, my friend.”

 

Buck grinned, holding the cigar down by his side. “I did everything Nathan told me not to do – well, except back out of it before it started. Wasn't sure he was gonna patch me up after – you should have heard him up there, bitching with every stick of that damned needle.”

 

Ezra grinned in return. “Well, it was an interesting technique that you used, something akin to a bull in a china shop method. I thought that you were trying to herd him the way one does cattle.”

 

Buck laughed – or started to; the action brought on pain and his laugh was cut off with a sharp intake of breath as his injured arm rose to wrap more tightly around his chest. “Don't make me laugh,” he said.

 

“My apologies,” Ezra said, reaching into his jacket pocket for his flask. He unscrewed the top and sipped from it then offered it across to Buck. He had to lean close, as Buck couldn't extend his injured arm very far and the hand of the good arm still held the cigar, its tip glowing a deep red in the darkness.

 

“So how much did you make off me?” Buck asked as he lifted the flask to his lips.

 

Ezra shrugged, debating his answer. In the end, and despite his better judgment, he answered honestly, “Around $80.00. It would have been more, but several people actually bet quite substantially on you, so I had some pretty high payouts to make.”

 

“Well, good for them!” Buck said, grinning. He took another healthy swig of Ezra's liquor then waved the flask in invitation as he went on, “Good to know I have some friends in town.”

 

“Oh, you do, my friend, and in this instance, they were very supportive of you.” He reached into another of the inside pockets of his coat and drew out a wad of bills. “It does seem only fair that I share some of the wealth with you.” He reached out, dropping it in Buck's lap.

 

“Why, thank you, there, Ezra!” Buck grinned, working his injured arm so that he could get it. Carefully, he thumbed through it. “$25?” He looked up, glaring at Ezra, but his mustache twitched, a sign that he was more amused than annoyed.

 

“I would remind you that it was my initial investment that got you any part of this,” Ezra said, sitting back, and only a little annoyed that his generosity was being challenged.

 

“And that Chris might get angry if he finds out you were taking bets on me,” Buck shot back, but he did grin this time.

 

“Mr. Larabee has more than enough to worry over, I assure you,” Ezra said smoothly, though it amused him that Buck thought Chris actually cared about his betting pool. Chris had been far more worried about Buck and about his own possible duel with Martinez. Well, actually, he hadn't been worried about the duel with Martinez; Ezra had. But Chris should have been.

 

“Yeah, reckon he does,” Buck said, looking at Ezra.

 

Something in the look made Ezra uncomfortable; Buck was Chris' oldest friend, the man who had known Chris in his former life, when he'd been married and had a child. Ezra suspected that Buck had figured things out - the man seemed to have a preternatural awareness of all things sexual, and Chris was convinced that Buck, Nathan, Josiah, and Vin all knew about them.

 

“He was most concerned about you,” Ezra said, attempting to deflect the conversation. “And I must say, I cannot fault him for that concern. Whatever possessed you to risk you life for a woman who would not even have dinner with you, much less anything else? Why just two weeks ago, you were hiding away from a young lady with whom you had had – well, intimate dinners, at the least – refusing to even consider the idea of marriage when it appeared that she was carrying your own child.”

 

He said it lightly, assuming that the usual jesting that was common between them would ensue.

 

But something in Buck's demeanor changed. He seemed to darken, the smile on his face fading and his very posture diminishing, as if he were shrinking back into the chair.

 

It was then that Ezra recalled, vaguely, something that Chris had said several weeks ago, after the incident with the new marshal who had allowed the town to be over run. Something about Buck spending the day in the jail, watching the marshal die.

 

But that didn't seem as if it could be related to this . . .

 

Buck put the cigar between his lips and took his time drawing in the smoke, leaving Ezra a few seconds to gather his thoughts and try to find a redirection or a new topic of conversation. Perhaps the topic of the woman who's honor had been at stake. “I must say, though, that Inez is doing a marvelous job with the Standish Saloon. I had expected to harbor a great deal of annoyance with her for betraying me, but it seems I should have listened to her sooner. Perhaps the place would still be mine.”

 

“They will surprise you, that's for sure,” Buck said, blowing out smoke. He tapped the cigar with one finger, knocking away the long end of ash that had developed. “I didn't expect Miss Millie to turn out to be the tiger that she was – and truth be told, I was kind of relieved to see her leaving town.”

 

It took Ezra a time to recall the woman in question – or, the young lady, as it were, the one who had cast such a spell on Buck that he had ended up in the jail cell at that most unfortunate time. “More than you could handle?” Ezra said, thinking that this line of questioning would surely bring Buck out of the strange turn he had taken.

 

But instead of stepping up to defend himself, as he was usually want to do, Buck sighed. “Maybe she was,” he said quietly. “After all that happened in those couple of days – well, maybe if I'd been paying more attention to what was going on instead of to – well, maybe things could have ended different.”

 

Ezra found himself drinking deeply from his flash, and he thought about heading back into the saloon to get them an actual bottle. This conversation appeared to be heading for the confessional and he suddenly wished Josiah were here. But he felt obligated to respond. “I think, my friend, that could be said of us all. None of us were prepared for the arrival of the marshal, nor for his edicts. In the same vein, none of us were prepared for the events that happened soon thereafter – my mother's arrival, the arrival of that false marshal who almost had Vin killed by Eli Joe, the situation with your former paramour – which I understand was all a ruse?”

 

Buck smiled, but this, too, was not one of his usual smiles. There was an edge of bitterness in this one, made all the more clear by his tone as he answered, “You'd have been proud of her, Ezra. It was a play from the first minute. I told you that baby wasn't mine – hell, I know how careful I am about these things. But she actually had me believing that it was.”

 

“But – it wasn't,” Ezra said, confused. “Surely that's a good thing – isn't it?”

 

Buck drew again on the cigar, letting the smoke rest in his mouth as he thought about the answer. The mere fact that he was thinking about it worried Ezra, and he understood more of Chris' concern about this whole mess. Something was wrong with Buck, something very strange was going on in his head.

 

Eventually, Buck put down the cigar, which was almost down to nothing now. “Yeah, no doubt about that, it was a good thing. I ain't ready to settle down and raise a baby – hell, you know me better than that. But . . . “ He looked at the cigar and reached down to the boardwalk, stubbing out the burning end on the dirty floor. When he sat back up, he went on, “But it got me to thinking. Not about getting married, don't get me wrong. But I guess it got me thinking about what others think of me. And maybe – well, more importantly, what I think of myself. I tried to do right by Lucy and that baby – and I admit, it took me a while to own up to the idea of it. If that baby had been mine – well, I was wrong to try to avoid that.”

 

Ezra drew a deep breath, not sure how to respond to this. He had known Buck long enough to know that the man had a strong conscience – it was part of what all seven shared, though the aspects of conscience were often different and varied. It was part of why they worked so well together.

 

But this introspection – well, at one level, it was alarming. From Nathan or Josiah, he would have been quite prepared for it. Those two were forever considering every move made and its repercussions – especially when it applied to their own behaviors. Chris and Vin, among their myriad and annoying similarities, also shared the periodic ability to second guess their behaviors – but also, the reassuring ability to make decisions that they deemed necessary for the 'greater good' without remorse – which was also extremely annoying.

 

But Buck . . . well, like himself, Buck had always demonstrated a strong sense of self-preservation. And in truth, this was part of what had worried Ezra most these past few days, that Buck was losing his sense of priorities.

 

And as Ezra was worried about that in himself these days, what with this peculiar pre-occupation he seemed to have with a certain member of their cadre – well, these events and this conversation were not reassuring Ezra whatsoever about his own sanity.

 

As if appreciating his concerns, Buck said, “Maybe it's time I thought about settling down. It kinda hurt that Lucy used me that way, to get to that boy she wants to marry – hell, Ezra, he ain't even man enough to propose to her. But she preferred him to me – I wasn't even a contender.” He sighed and held out his good hand toward Ezra, asking for the flask.

 

Ezra sighed too, but he handed it over. The lamps in the saloon were still bright, so Inez was still in there cleaning up.

 

After Buck drank – a long pull on the flask – he handed it back to Ezra and said, “Seemed like I needed to do something to prove I was a contender. That probably don't make no sense to you, seeing as how you seem to have settled down yourself, but - “

 

“I beg your pardon?” Ezra said, not understanding the words at all. “Whatever do you mean by that – 'settled down'?” And then it came to him – of course, there was only one thing Buck could have meant. “Ah – you mean my attempt to establish myself as a businessman here, by my purchase of the Standish Tavern. Well, I do have to admit, I did have reservations about becoming a business owner, as it does mean becoming a resident of a place for a time.” He considered it for a moment, long enough to take a drink of the rapidly diminishing supply of his good whiskey.

 

Buck frowned, shaking his head. “Well, if that's how you want to describe it,” he said. “Though I reckon Chris might want you to think something a little more personal.”

 

Ezra frowned, feeling uncomfortable again. “I think I shall acquire us more libation, before the lovely Senorita locks up for the night.”

 

Buck waved his hand, settling back in the chair, and Ezra moved quickly, hoping that by the time he returned, Buck would have moved on to some other thought.

 

It was not to be, however; as he set the bottle on the wooden floor between them, handing Buck a glass into which he had already poured whiskey, Buck said, “I don't know, guess I've just been wondering if I got what it takes to make a stand on something or for someone. Chris has done it – well, now I reckon he's done it twice. And you, too, of course.”

 

“Well, I didn't succeed with my plan,” Ezra started, wanting Buck to be talking about his attempt to run a business, but once more, Buck cut him off.

 

“Hell, even JD's courting Casey now – he took her on an afternoon ride, bought her a frog-gigger – though I don't think that's all that romantic, but she apparently liked it well enough. She's cooking him dinner tomorrow night – what's wrong with me, Ezra? Why can't I be happy with the idea of one person? Why can't I find something that I'm so committed to, I'd be willing to die for it?”

 

Ezra stared at him, wondering many things, not the least of which is why Buck thought that Ezra had found something he was willing to die for. Self preservation was his first instinct in every situation, and why Buck would think that had changed . . .

 

But then again, he did often put his life on the line for this town – though they were paid for that, and he certainly didn't take foolish chances with that, certainly not the way Buck had. And perhaps that was where best to approach this. “But apparently there is something that you are willing to die for – Inez?”

 

Buck shook his head, sipping on his new drink. After he swallowed, he said, “Wasn't wiling to die for her. It was the principle of the thing. A man like that, like Don Paulo – he's was gonna kill a woman somewhere along the line, if something wasn't done. I've known men like him, Ezra, men who think they own women just because they're women. That ain't right. That man didn't deserve to live. I couldn't let any woman be carried off by him.”

 

The vehemence in his voice was something Ezra had never heard before. Maybe it was the alcohol – or the pain from the injuries.

 

Whatever the case, it disproved his whole argument. “You do realize that you just demonstrated that there is some ideal for which you are willing to die?”

 

Buck blinked, frowned, then turned to look at Ezra. “What?”

 

Ezra looked at him, confused. “What – what?”

 

Buck shook his head. “What did you just say?”

 

Ezra frowned. “I said that you just demonstrated that there is some ideal - “

 

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you – what did you mean?”

 

Ezra looked at him, still confused. Though perhaps it was possible that Buck hadn't understood the words themselves, he doubted that. They were reasonably common words – though it was true he had not heard Buck use many of them . . .

 

Ezra took a drink of his whiskey, thinking about how he was going to answer this. Best, he thought, to go back to the beginning. One of Maude's tactics, and one that often worked well. It had gotten her his saloon, after all. “Correct me, please, if I misunderstood, but did you not say that you had met men like Don Paulo, men who treated women badly?”

 

Buck looked at him. Perhaps it was the moonlight, and the shadows it cast, but Buck's eyes seemed darker and his face harder. “More than you know,” he said, and there was an anger in his voice that was most out of character.

 

Ezra hesitated, sensing that there was something more at play here. But asking directly was never wise, not with these men, and in truth, he wasn't certain that he really wanted to know. It was bad enough that Buck seemed to know of his peculiar situation with Chris. Worse that he thought it was open for discussion in any form.

 

As if knowing his thoughts, Buck said more quietly, “Reckon Chris ain't told you, given that he's not the chatterbox that he claims me to be, but my ma was killed by a man who – well, he thought he owned her. Thought she should do everything he wanted, though he didn't do nothing to take care of her.”

 

Ezra stared at him, appalled. This most certainly was not what he had expected – and now that he had heard it, he knew he would never be able to forget it.

 

But it also explained so very much about Buck Wilmington – including this most recent bout with insanity involving Inez.

 

Buck went on, staring out toward the moon, his voice still soft and having taken on a dreamlike quality. “My ma wasn't like yours. She didn't have the wherewithall to figure out how to make money other than the old-fashioned way – reckon you knew that, though.”

 

There was a suggestion of a question in the words and Ezra reluctantly said, “I had surmised something of the sort from some of the things you have said, particularly during that incident involving that dreadful Wicks individual.”

 

Buck smiled, a soft expression. “Those women are good women, Ezra. They're making the best of bad situations – most of 'em wouldn't do it if they had any other choice. I know my ma would have done something else, and she tried, I promise you that. She was talking about giving up that life when that bastard killed her. Hell, that might have been why he killed her.”

 

Ezra took another drink of his whiskey – a big one. Despite himself, he thought of Maude and the dangers of the profession she practiced and that she had taught him. Violence was always a risk, one that she had taught him to anticipate. But Maude didn't sell herself, not the way Buck's mother had.

 

No, he corrected himself, she did sell herself, but as a long-term commodity. How many times now had she been married? And not to just any man, oh dear lord, no, she had standards.

 

“Did they ever find the man?” he asked, wondering where Maude's husbands – the ones who hadn't died during their marriage to his mother – were. Was that why Maude moved around so much? He'd never considered it before, believing her explanation that a good grifter never settled down or stayed in one place too long – but she had accepted the idea that he was going to settle down – what had she said about them being 'business people'?

 

Buck chuckled, but it was a return to the hardness and bitterness of earlier. “He was found. Took a while, but yeah, he got what was coming to him.”

 

Ezra drew a breath, considering how to ask the next question – considering whether he actually wanted to know the answer.

 

Upon this consideration, he decided he didn't, so he asked another. “Did you ever learn what his motivations were?”

 

Buck shrugged, shifting in his chair. “He was the devil,” he said simply. “Just like that prissy boy with his butter knife. Those kind of men don't deserve – hell, they don't deserve nothing.”

 

Ezra sat, staring out at the moon himself as he thought about all of this.

 

Buck moved again, slowly easing his leg off off the rail and to the ground. He made a noise that was not quite a groan or a moan, but distinctly one of discomfort. “Didn't mean to get ugly on you,” he said. “Reckon it's past time for me to get to bed – Nathan won't take kindly to me tearing these stitches cause I sat here too long and got stiff.”

 

Ezra picked up the bottle, tucking it into one of his pockets, then he stood and reached out, offering a hand as Buck got slowly and inelegantly to his feet. He rested most of his weight on his good leg, hoping every other step. “As I was saying earlier,” Ezra said, supporting Buck's elbow, “I believe you are in error. It seems to me that you do have a commitment, and a very noble one. You defend the honor of all of womankind.”

 

Buck put his good hand on Ezra's shoulder and tried to steady himself. “Don't think that's the same. Ain't like I'm making a commitment for what's right – it ain't a matter of right or wrong when it comes to protecting women. Ain't like I'm making any kind of choice – you know, like you did, to stay here and be with Chris, or like Marshal Bryson did when he made the choice to go out there to meet them outlaws with only himself and his gun.”

 

Ezra turned to him, thinking about his words. Thinking about how to address this.

 

Thinking about how much they had both consumed, how much Buck might remember in the morning.

 

Thinking about how honest he could afford to be, not just with Buck, but with himself.

 

Buck took a step forward, putting weight on his bad leg. When it held, he took another step, moving away from Ezra. “See you in the morning, Ezra,” he said, limping down the boardwalk in the direction of the boarding house.

 

Passingly, it occurred to Ezra that Buck was spending the night alone. It was something that happened very rarely, in Ezra's experience, and it made him think again of the story Buck had told.

 

Which, in turn, made him think of his own mother, and his own choices.

 

“Buck,” he said quietly, walking to catch up. Buck turned to look at him, slowing in his already slow stride. “You think those were choices?” he asked quietly. “They are not. They are as much a part of who we are as the need to protect women is a part of you. The Marshal believed in his way of doing things, in the idea of civilized men being able to reason. It was incomprehensible to him that any man would not accept his authority. Thus, he could not consider doing anything differently. Dare I ask, at any point in the time that you spent with him that afternoon, did he reconsider what he had done?”

 

Buck limped along, still in his very slow pace. “What do you mean, reconsider? He said he was sorry that things had gone sideways, and that I was locked up in the jail.”

 

“Did he say that he would have done things differently?”

 

Buck slowed even more, shuffling to a halt, more or less. “He said is he was a fool.”

 

Ezra grinned. “Do you think you were a fool to do what you did for Inez?”

 

Buck looked at him then grinned. “Hell yes. But I'd have done it the same.”

 

Ezra nodded. “That, sir, is my point. It's why it's not a choice. You may know it is not the wise thing to do, but you are predestined, because of your conviction, to carry it through and hope for the best. That, sir, is the thing that makes it a commitment, not a choice.”

 

Buck stood for a time, shifting from one foot to the other, then he said, “Is that the reason you're staying here, trying to tie yourself down?”

 

Ezra shrugged. “I shall carry it through and hope for the best, whatever that may be. Now – shall we get you up those stairs to your bed?”

 

Buck grinned. It wasn't his normal grin, full of mischief and provocation, but it was better than the introspection from earlier. “You offering to take me to bed, Ezra?”

 

Ezra snorted. “You are hardly my type.”

 

“Reckon I need to work on my black wardrobe and bad attitude, huh.” Buck started hobbling again, but this time he reached out and put a hand on Ezra's shoulder. “Glad to you hear you can't not do it, Ezra. That none of us can. Glad it's not a choice – though I know there will be days when you wish it were.”

 

“Like you did earlier today?” Ezra reached out and lightly poked at the bandage around Buck's chest.

 

“Hey!” Buck drew away, but just a little, and he chuckled. “Yeah, reckon you're right. Just like I did today, 'bout the second time that blade cut me. But as Josiah would say, wasn't my time to die. And if it had been – well, I don't guess I'd have done it any different because I couldn't.” They made a few more steps, coming to the end of the boardwalk. “You know, there is a good thing that's come out of this – there are a lot more women around here that know me by name! Why – did you see those ladies who were talking to me earlier? They came in on the stage yesterday and were waiting to get the afternoon stage. They stayed just to watch the duel – and now they want to stand me to lunch tomorrow!”

 

Ezra grinned. Finally, the return of the Buck he knew. “Before they get on the stage?” he asked, helping Buck down the step to the ground.

 

Buck grunted as he made the step, his wounded leg giving a little too much as it took weight. “We'll just see about that,” he said, straightening. “I got a reputation to keep!”

 

“Yes, but given your current condition, are you up to the task?” Ezra asked, grinning as he anticipated the answer.

 

“I am always up to the task! You never disappoint a lady! That ain't even an option!”

 

Ezra laughed, helping Buck across the street and towards the boarding house. “No, my friend, for you, it is not.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
